


how could a fistfight be romantic?

by everythingintransit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2 punks fall in love basically, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Asian Sirius Black, Blind Character, Blind Remus Lupin, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingintransit/pseuds/everythingintransit
Summary: Love blooms in mosh pits. (Or: Music and the sound of your voice speak louder than anything and even though I’ve never seen you, I feel like I know you, and talking to you is like the sun coming out, it’s like warmth from everywhere all at once.) A kind gesture, a punch, a kiss, and just enough love to go around.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	how could a fistfight be romantic?

**Author's Note:**

> this came outta nowhere. written originally for a prompt "a blind man falls in love, describe his feelings" w/ OCs, but i turned them into wolfstar because i loved it so much. title from 'paralyzed' by the used

The sun still comes out when you’re blind. Not in the way you can see, like holding a hand over your eyes to shield or blocking it out with sunglasses, but in the way it feels. Stepping into a patch of sun and feeling a warmth fill you up like nothing else. This is why cats and lizards and iguanas and everything spend their lives lying in the sun. Remus thinks he could get away with this for the rest of his life. 

He sits in front of the window, in the morning sunlight, and lets it warm him as though he’ll never feel it again. This is something to count on; sunlight. A great deal of it falls on everything. 

Remus sits in front of the window for who-knows how long. Definitely not him, as he hasn’t attempted to check the time yet, and it’s a Saturday with no firmly booked plans, so he is free to lounge about like a cat for seconds, minutes, or hours, depending on how lazy he’s feeling this morning. 

Eventually he gets up and asks Siri for the time. She tells him it’s eleven thirty five, and he has no other evidence but the bright quality of light to believe her. Eats breakfast, showers, gets dressed, and then, what is there to do today? Remus has been lonely on the weekends ever since moving here. He has friends from work, but they only really go get drinks or food after work. There’s not much else. 

Well. There’s concerts. 

The hardcore scene back home had been a rather fruitful adventure for Remus who had grown up in and out of mosh pits at heavy shows that his older brother had taken him to as a kid. It stuck as he got older, and despite the drastic deterioration of his vision, Remus had continued showing up to gigs. Sometimes by himself, sometimes with friends, and rarely with his brother, Owen, when they saw each other. 

Remus decides that he’s going to a gig tonight. Fuck being blind and fuck work tomorrow. He’s out to have fun.

—

As it happens, it’s harder to have fun by yourself, especially when Remus has a hard time gauging where the pit starts and ends. Usually, there is a wild freedom of throwing yourself into the violent throng of bodies, but the crowd keeps shifting around him and all Remus can see are strange shadows. The colorful lights flashing on stage just change the depth of the light, and the crowd looks like a blur of dark shadows moving together.

Remus folds himself against the wall, safe and out of the way. He keeps his hands in his pockets and listens to the band currently playing. They’re not bad at all. Remus doesn’t quite remember the name, he’d just found some local gig, but it’s hardcore type of stuff and they sound at least somewhat polished. 

From his right side, someone says: “Hey, dude, d’you want a better view? The PA’s right in your way.” Remus turns his head to where it seems like the voice has come from. The amplified music and shitty acoustics makes it hard to place where any sound originates and he pivots again, frowning. “Um,” The voice says. It belongs to a shadowy black blur of a person.

“Sorry,” Remus tells him, “I’m blind. I’m just here for the music. View doesn't matter all that much.”

“Oh! Haha! Yeah, that makes sense. I kept, like, shuffling away to give you more space, but, uh. You didn’t notice.” The guy’s voice is funny, warm, a little hesitant.

“Yeah. It’s helpful, though, not needing any view.” Remus pauses, and so does the guy. Have they stopped talking? Is the conversation over? Has the guy left? 

“Mind if I stick with you for the show? No one I knew wanted to come with me, so I just showed up by myself, but it’s no fun in between sets with no one to talk to.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. What’s your name? I’m Remus.”

“I’m serious.”

“About what?”

“Noo, haha, no, it’s just my name. Sirius, like the star. My parents got bored with traditional Thai names and were just like fuck it, we’ve got the whole galaxy to choose from, why not name him _Sirius_? It’s a curse.” 

“It’s unique! And a conversation starter right?”

“Haha, yeah. If only to clarify.” It’s too loud for them to talk much more, so they fall into a silence that is filled comfortably by the pounding music. Remus nods his head along to the drums and only hopes that he doesn’t look like a total idiot. Blindness does lead to some form of self confidence that involves the lack of insecurity because it simply cannot exist, not when you can’t ever see yourself. Remus has some vague ideas about what he might look like, mostly inspired from glances into mirrors during childhood, but as an adult, his face is blurry and his features nonexistent. He’s sort of indifferent to himself, because there’s no way to ever see his face and he’s learned to live with it, along with everything else. It’s just fine.

Remus is indifferent to a lot of things, these days. Easy like that. The music is okay, each band with a bit of a different sound, and the last one gets more of a reaction from the crowd. And in between sets, Sirius talks. Like, a lot. He’s full of a nervous kind of energy and Remus can feel it off of him- twitchy and foot tappy and babbling on about this and that. They have the same taste in music, though, and Sirius talks about shows he’s been to. Remus’s unsurprised to learn that they’ve been to some of the same gigs, but Sirius gets all happy about it like it’s the best news in the world.

“So- did you- you were at that Thursday one with, with-”

“-with Glassjaw, right?”

“Yeah! Oh, yeah! What side of the stage were you on? How far back in the crowd were you? Small fucking world!” Sirius goes on like that, overenthusiastic and giddy with conversation, and someone has to shush him when the faint stage lights go down and Remus can tell that the last band is coming on.

At the end of the night, Remus shuffles out of the venue, his body herded along by everyone else. The night outside is crisp with a cutting chill, and Remus unties the jacket from around his waist to shrug on. He thinks that he’s lost Sirius in the crowd for the millionth time tonight, but this time they won’t see each other again. Dark outside and it’s hard for Remus to separate shadows and trash cans on the street from actual people.

His vision is better than it had been inside. Remus’s eyesight goes completely shit when there’s nothing but darkness and the occasional flashing lights. Fogged up windowpane with colors thrumming in the darkness, but so far away.

“Yo, so, I was wondering if I could get your number, or something, if you want to meet up another time?” Sirius is still here? And he’s asking for Remus’s _number?_ Who the hell is this guy? “For another show, maybe, or just for kicks. For fun. For a date? Haha….” 

God, he’s so terrible that it’s painful, and endearing as hell, so Remus gives Sirius his number. 

“Are you. How do I, um, can I text you? Does that work? Or should I call?”

“You can text, I have a screen reader and Siri, and everything. Calling is easier but I can do either.”

“Oh, cool, that’s cool. Sick. Tight. How are you getting home?” Sirius sounds like anxiety and overconfidence personified, the strangest mixture, and his next breath is taken quickly, a little short and harsh.

“I was gonna get an Uber.”

“Okay, cool. Well, I’ll talk to you later, okay, it was so great to meet you. Goodnight!”

“‘Night,” Remus tells someone, maybe a random person or a streetlamp or Sirius himself. He shivers a bit as the wind blows, feeling a sudden chill sweep through him that hadn’t quite been there before.

—

Remus spends most of his time listening to things on purpose. Music, podcasts, audiobooks, whatever. Movies and he can’t see the visuals but he can hear their voices, the tone of their words, and he can imagine the characters being whoever, imagine them being wherever, something distinctly without any concrete reality.

For all the things he’s seen in life before his vision got worse, few of them were exciting. Remus grew up in the suburbs and he can remember those well enough; cracks in the sidewalks, huge power structures down by the park, dogs barking behind chain link fences, sunrises and sunsets, empty lots, strip malls, and lots of grass. The Midwest, however you like it. 

He saw movies as a kid. Was obsessed with California and the palm trees, and all that _color._ Neon this and neon that, bright signs, huge billboards, movie stars and fast cars and a glamour of lights that never fade, not even when it’s time for bed. A lot of what he remembers fades away with time. A desert has sand, but he can’t picture one. Beijing might have bright skyscrapers breaking the clouds and down in the streets, cluttered markets and everything in Chinese characters but Remus’s never remembered anything but the Latin alphabet.

So he listens to things that describe what he has to see for him. Music is the best, because it’s different. It’s feelings more than pictures. Instruments, vocals, all sorts of talent and emotions expressed through a sound clear as anything. Remus can understand music on a different level. Sirius sends him lots and lots of songs, at least two every day for a while, until he just makes a playlist. Remus tells this to his best friend Lily, who goes crazy.

“Playlists are a declaration of love,” She explains as they walk home from work. Her work, at least. In this very indie thrift store, where Remus comes to hang out when he’s off work ( _his_ work, research engineering and don’t ask, man, it’s boring as anything and retail might just be a better gig if it paid a bit more), and they’ll get food afterwards when he comes to visit. “I mean it, I mean _seriously_. My way old ex made me a playlist and he just assumed we were dating because I made him one back. It’s a love language. It’s flirting.”

“It’s that deep? It’s just a playlist. He sent songs I might like and then just compiled them into a playlist, for convenience, you know.” Lily has been holding his arm gently and pulls him to the left. Apparently there’s something in the way, but it’s dark out and this street is badly lit, so Remus has excuses to stumble around like an idiot. 

“Songs you might _like,_ idiot. He’s thinking about you. He’s associating _songs_ with you. That means something.”

“Jeez…”

“Have you seen him since the show?”

“No, I’ve been busy.”

“Go on a fucking date with him, Remus, don’t be a pussy. Hey, do you want crepes?”

“Yes!”

—

The crepes are so good and the menu is so extensive that Remus invites Sirius to go get more of them with him on Saturday. Like a date. Remus calls him up to invite him because he hates texting despite the relative ease of it. Sirius picks up and hits the ground running.

“Hey, Remus, I was _just_ about to call you and then _you_ called _me,_ which is just like, fate. How are you?”

“I’m good! How are you?”

“I’m good too.” Sirius’s voice is as warm as ever and Remus thinks that even if one of them _weren’t_ so good, things aren’t as bad anymore when you’re talking to someone who makes you feel like things are gonna be okay. Makes you feel like the sun has come out. “I was gonna call you because I just found out about this DIY show tonight and would you maybe like to come with me? I know it’s a work night and it’s cold but entry’s only five bucks and-”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” Remus doesn’t even know who’s playing, doesn’t care. He’ll like them if Sirius likes them. 

“Um, I was gonna drive, so I can swing by and pick you up, if that’s chill?”

“Yes, sure, of course. When?”

“About seven.”

“What time is it?” Sirius laughs then and it’s a wonderful sound. “Hey, hey, my concept of time is different, I’m not always forced to look at clocks.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You _laughed_. Speaks words.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, it’s about four thirtyish and hey, why did you call me?”

“I wanted to know if you’d like to get crepes with me on Saturday.” 

“Aw, man, it’s like you read my fucking mind, dude. I’m always down for crepes.”

—

The venue is tiny and the entire crowd turns into a kind of pit. People are throwing elbows, shoving hard, and someone must have crawled up onto the stage and thrown themself off because Remus nearly falls as the full weight of another human hits him in the darkness.

“Carry crowd surfers, asshole!” Someone shouts at him.

“I’m blind, motherfucker!” Remus spits back. There’s no more conversation after that and Remus is jostled around by the bodies around him. He’s panting for breath and drenched in sweat, and the only thing keeping him tethered to reality is the aching in his limbs and the bizarre flashing stage lights bouncing around his vision. Someone shoves him, elbows him, kicks him, people from all sides, and Remus is lost in it.

He fights his way out, punching and kicking, grasping for a wall or anything safe to hold onto. Then someone touches him, grabs him, out of nowhere. A hand on his arm and Remus is all paranoid and in a fighting mood from the pit, so he swings hard, clocking whoever-it-was in the jaw and they shout, not letting go- “ _Fuck_ , man, it’s me, it’s Sirius!” 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” Sirius just laughs and laughs. “Are you okay? _Shit,_ tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, you pack a mean punch for a guy who can’t even see his target.”

“Are you,” Remus pants, the music thrashing in between and ringing loud in his ears, “Are you _serious_? I just fucking, I punched you in the face!” Sirius cackles loudly and then shoves Remus like they’re still in that hot moment where it’s all bloody knuckles and bruised cheeks. It had been on purpose, maybe, and someone shoves Remus from behind and he’s folded back into the fray.

—

For Remus, a drive home is always better than a walk. Sirius’s car smells nice, with soft cloth seats. For a moment it’s quiet (save for the ringing in his ears). Remus fumbles with the seatbelt and clicks it into place, bracing himself for the odd dizziness that driving usually brings. Turns out Sirius is a good driver.

He plays music that they listened to at the show and there’s less screeching sound, more clarity, and Remus can better make out the words. Sirius taps the wheel as he drives, jumpy and nervous, talking about abandoned houses and how it’s ridiculous that people just leave them, homeless people could live there, you know, and then after a long time he asks Remus what his address is, again?

“Where’ve we been going?” Remus asks. His voice is hoarse from keeping up conversation all night but it’s good, it’s okay. People don’t talk to him much at work and there’s Lily, and phone calls home, but nothing like this. Talking about anything and everything for hours, singing along to songs you don’t know at a show, and laughing, because Sirius is funny.

“Just driving. I dig driving around, calms me down.” Sirius pauses, skips a song. There’s some loose coins in his cup holder (for tolls, Remus assumes), and they rattle around as they drive. 

Remus tells him his address and then quickly adds, “But we don’t have to go home right away.”

“Nah, we’ll just circle back, ish. Get back in the area.”

“Okay.” They keep driving, music and words. Things that make sense to Remus. Sirius tells him that it’s a full moon tonight and invites Remus to howl out the sunroof if he pleases. Moonroof, tonight, Remus tells him and Sirius laughs, opening it up. The wind smells like snow and Remus fumbles dumbly as he pulls himself up. It all hits him full on as he pokes his head and shoulders out of the sun/moonroof, feeling the dark blue nighttime hit him from all over. 

When he looks up, there’s something brighter than the rest of the sky, the moon, and Remus howls like a madman while below him Sirius laughs and laughs, foot on the gas and the wind in Remus’s hair, tonight’s music playing loud, the cold turning his cheeks red and it’s the smell of nighttime, inhaling the stars.

They drive until it’s tomorrow and Sirius is full of apologies. _I’m impulsive,_ he says, _I drove too far, I’m a fun junkie, you have work tomorrow,_ and more things that Remus doesn’t want to hear. Remus sits in the passenger seat of Sirius’s idling car and thinks that he’d kiss him if he knew he would meet his lips straight on. Knowing him, he’ll probably end up smooching Sirius’s cheek, or his chin, or probably banging into his neck.

So Remus tells him there’s nothing to be sorry for, and he’ll see him on Saturday for crepes. He hopes that Sirius is smiling when he drives away. Of all the things Remus’s wished to see, it’s Sirius he’s most desperate to understand. 

Remus knows that Lily has red hair, dark red. Her eyes are green. Her skin is pale. When he looks at her, he sees it, sort of. The glow of red around her face, but her features are completely blurry, and Remus has only seen her in color. In the darkness of a gig or the flickering light of a street outside, Sirius looks like the shadow of anything- streetlamp, trash can. 

Remus needs him in daylight. Sunlight.

—

They get crepes on Saturday as planned, and they are delicious. 

“What did you get?” Remus asks, and Sirius tells him one with apples, cinnamon, caramel, and graham cracker crumbs which is just… ingenious. Remus has a bad obsession with chocolate and had gotten a boring Nutella crepe, but it’s all warm and melty and good. He keeps wiping his face after every bite, not wanting to end up with chocolate all over him, and Sirius is obviously too kind to tell him even if there was.

The crepe place was crowded and Remus kept running into things so they took their food outside, onto a bench, which is safe. And maybe Sirius has been inching closer or hey- maybe he hasn’t been! But sometimes his voice sounds nearer and sometimes the shadowy figure of him looks closer than it had been before.

Not for the first time, it occurs to Remus that he hates seeing Sirius as nothing but a dark, blurry shadow. He hasn’t expected much in his mind. Sirius said his name was Thai before so Remus has kept him that way in his mind, just an Asian guy. Black hair, dark eyes, and well… his ideas of features don’t go much farther than that. So he just asks. 

“What do you look like?”

Sirius pauses, as though not sure how to answer. “Well. Have you ever seen someone?” Remus has vague memories from childhood, of lips and eyes and noses, of facial features. He knows his mom’s face by heart, but that’s it. Her eyes were green and round. Heart shaped face, a button nose, and a big smile. She had a kind face. Remus can’t think of anyone else up from memory. 

“Yeah, I know the basics.”

“Well imagine a person, and then make him _really_ sexy, then and you have me.” Remus laughs and Sirius joins in. His laugh is bubbly and contagious. Sirius always laughs readily; happiness is something that comes so easily to him. “I have long hair. Down to my shoulders, and it’s black. And I’m Asian. Thai. Black eyes, too.”

“There’s such a thing?”

“There’s no color in these, man. My skin is kinda brown. And I’m, uh, you know, six feet tall and I’m _super_ fit.”

“Are you lying?”

Sirius laughs again, louder. “Do you not believe me?”

“You could be pumping yourself up a bit! Hey, you can lie, I don’t mind! You could be the ugliest guy alive and I’d never know.”

“Nope,” Sirius tells him, “You’d never. Alas, I’m only five eight.” He’s so short that it’s endearing. “And I’m _kinda_ fit. Here, feel my bicep.” Sirius’s hand takes Remus’s and presses it against something warm and hard. “Feel those guns?” He flexes. Remus feels his warm, strong arm until maybe it’s been too long, and he pulls back, his face hot.

“Okay, okay, I’m impressed. You got me there.”

“Any other qualms? Questions, comments, concerns?”

“What do _I_ look like?”

“Oh, um.” Sirius hesitates, and Remus knows that he’s looking him up and down. There’s something enticing about being looked at by him, at just being _seen._ “Brown hair, but it’s almost… reddish? And it looks blonde in sunlight. Like, golden.”

“Wow, Sirius, tell me more about the nuances of the natural highlights of my hair.”

“Shut up!” Sirius’s voice is bright. “And your eyes… they’re _crazy._ They’re totally hazel! Normally they’re green but in sunlight they’re almost yellowy, and in the dark they’re brown. And there’s this cool shine on them. Like a cataract, almost. And your nose… well. It’s cute.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Remus pats at his nose. “Well, it’s. It’s sort of big?”

“It’s a little big, but you know what, it’s cute. And your lips are so nice. They’re sorta pouty, but they’re _so_ cute.” And then Sirius kisses them. Remus doesn’t consider himself surprised. 

—

So now they’re dating, which is kind of cool. 

Sirius keeps making playlists and Remus keeps listening to them. Remus finds places to go, usually recommendations from Lily, and they find a gig to go to maybe once every other week. They bridge the awkwardness of inviting each other over to their places, which might not be bad for Sirius but is a big deal for Remus, whose apartment must look like an utter shitshow because of his lack of ability to clean.

“I’m sorry it’s a disaster,” He told Sirius as he opened the door, “I just don’t know how to clean up. Shit just exists and I forget about it.”

“Hey, I can’t blame you! As long as it doesn’t smell…” And Remus had wondered _shit, does it smell?_ but it hadn’t, because Remus puts everything into the refrigerator unless it comes in a cardboard box out of fear of things rotting. (Which means there’s lots of things in his fridge that shouldn’t be there. Boxes of chocolate, packets of medicine, bananas, bread, chips, and often shampoo and conditioner.)

Sirius’s only problem with the apartment turns out to be the refrigerator itself, where he stands the next morning in shocked silence until Remus asks if he’d fallen in.

“Do you- please- Remus- please don’t tell me you just eat what’s in here at random. Do you smell it before you eat it?”

“Yeah…”

“Because there’s a lot more… um… green than there should be.”

“Green? I don’t have _that_ many veggies…” And then Remus understood that he was talking about mold. So he laughed. “The fridge is more like, a… like a cupboard to me? Like a storage facility? Just shove everything in there and hope for the best?”

Sirius sighed heavily. “We’re going to clean it out today.” And so they did, and it had been the most domestic thing that Remus had done with another person other than Lily for a long while, something so right about it.

—

The gigs are probably what’s made their relationship so curiously sustainable and drama free. Sirius and Remus go to show after show together for months at a time. If it’s been a long week, or if they’re frustrated, they can take it out on a mosh pit of people who feel the same way, all elbows and sweat and heavy music. A healthy way to kill bad vibes.

Sometimes they see bands they’ve actually heard of, the type you’ve got to buy tickets in _advance_ for. The DIY scene has been treating them well with five dollar cover entries, but they’ve got to put those playlists to good use at some point, you know?

They go see Thursday again just for good measure. Then Taking Back Sunday, which brings Remus back in time to his awful emo phase in high school, and then American Football, which cements Sirius as a hardcore emo kid, scratch that, _adult._ Remus asks if Sirius ever wears eyeliner and Sirius does his best to avoid the question.

When they see The Used, Sirius complains about how sweaty he is once the show is said and done. They’re taking the bus, since there’s shit parking downtown, and Remus has his hand in Sirius’s as they sit on the bus.

“I thought I was gonna _drown_ ,” Sirius complains, huffing out a breath, “So many fucking energetic kids.” He is radiating warmth and Remus presses closer into him. “Hey, I’m all gross.”

“You smell good.”

“Debatable.”

“Did your makeup get all messed up?”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighs. Then he stiffens. “Wait, what? What makeup?” Remus starts laughing.

“Called it! I _knew_ you still wear eyeliner!”

“Shut up, shut _up._ It’s the fucking _Used,_ Remus, who isn’t wearing eyeliner?”

And Remus says, “I wish I could see it.” And then it’s quiet for a moment. Remus never really gets down about his low vision because there’s no point anymore, but he does wish he could see Sirius’s face. Even if it’s sweaty. Even if his eyeliner is smeared, and his long hair is a mess, and his clothes are rumpled. Remus would want to see him even if he’s just ugly and disgusting. Just for a moment. Just to understand. Sirius squeezes his hand. 

His response is mumbled, half hearted. “It’s shitty eyeliner, anyways. Makes me look like a raccoon.” 

“I bet it’s not.”

“I swear it is. You’re not missing out.” Remus hadn’t known that he was so close until Sirius kisses him, but he definitely doesn’t complain.

—

They go to a hardcore show on a Sunday night because the pair of them are impulsive creatures and the scene is addictive. From the second the first band starts playing, Remus gets the feeling that this might be harder than usual, a little scarier. Sirius is right beside him, his hand barely brushing Remus’s hip, but it’s not long before they’re knocked apart by the movement of the crowd.

The singer (screamer? vocalist?) is absolutely barking into the mic while the heavy bass crunches down, over and over and _over,_ a complete breakdown while the drums thrash and the heavy bodies of people in the crowd go berserk.

Remus gets pulled into the mosh pit and it’s so overwhelming that he’s terrified. He lashes out because there’s nothing else _to_ do, he is lost in a sea of overwhelming sensation; someone pushes him hard, someone clocks him in the jaw, someone jams their knee into his side, someone shoves him again. All Remus can hear is his heartbeat thudding in his ears and the crashing of music around him. Something flashes dark red in his vision and damn, that _hurt,_ and then someone has their hands roughly on him dragging him out of the pit.

“Fuck-” Remus shoves back, “Fuck off, let me go, get off!”

“It’s me, Remus, it’s Sirius.”

“Oh, _shit_.” Remus wraps his arms around Sirius, who hugs him back, surprised. Remus can hear his panting breaths. “Oh fuck, I was scared.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got you.” Hugging on the outskirts of a mosh pit. The pair of them are shoved back with another wave of bodily violence, and Sirius takes a step back. “Maybe we should move?” Remus stays close to him, his warmth and the sweaty heat of his body.

Remus says, “Kiss me, kiss me.”

“What?” Remus leans down, remembering that Sirius is shorter than him, and keeps his hands on his chest, thinking _please, Sirius, just kiss me and save us this awful awkwardness,_ and Sirius finds his lips. They kiss and Remus tastes blood. 

“You bleeding?”

“I got punched!” Remus kisses him again and misses, gives a big wet kiss to Sirius’s scratchy cheek, and Sirius laughs, takes Remus’s face in his hands, and kisses him right. Lips on lips, and there’s a cut on Sirius’s mouth. Remus feels something cold bump against his nose and steps back, licking his lips, wiping his mouth. 

“Do you have a nose ring?”

Warily, “...Yeah?” 

“Did you always have a nose ring?”

“....No…?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you got it?”

“I didn’t think you’d know what it is! It would be stupid to explain, _oh, Remus, I got this stupid ring through my nose and what does it look like, you may ask? Huh, it looks like I’m a bull, I guess_ -”

“It’s a septum?” Remus interrupts. They’re nearly shouting at each other to be heard over the din of the music.

“Uh-huh? I guess you _do_ know what it is...”

“You’re so cute!” Remus gives Sirius another hug because it’s simpler than kissing. Sirius holds him, safe. Remus remembers, _I’ve got you_. 

“Don’t go get lost in the pit without letting me know first, okay?”

“Then I wouldn’t be lost.”

Sirius pauses, quiet, and the music rages around them. Remus has almost forgotten that he’s at a concert. That kiss had wiped his brain quite adequately. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Remus. I’m your backup, man. This crowd is rough.”

“I’m rougher.”

“Umm, you tell yourself that.” Sirius pecks him on the lips, still a bit of iron blooming on Remus’s tongue, and then the show goes on.

—

It doesn’t really take long for Remus to realize that he’s fallen head over heels for this overenthusiastic punk with a nose ring, good hair, and a weakness for wearing eyeliner at emo shows. (Nothing Remus has ever seen before, but he’s felt Sirius’s thick hair under his fingers, and the piercing bumps up against his face when they make out, and Sirius wouldn’t have lied about the eyeliner.)

Sirius cleans his fridge every week and makes fun of his outfits, telling him he looks like he got dressed in the dark. Sirius drives him around after bad days at work and they go buy bubble tea, or hash browns from McDonalds, or sometimes they just go sit in a parking lot and talk it out. Sometimes Remus sticks his head out the sunroof (moonroof, most of the time), and screams at the top of his lungs like this is what it feels like to be invincible, like he may be blind and sort of awkward and scrawny and too tall but if he jumped right now, he swears he could fucking fly.

Most days, it’s less than that. Love doesn’t always make Remus feel like he’s manic. Mostly it makes him warm. Mostly, Sirius makes Remus feel as though he has been warmed by the light of a sun positioned far enough away to be gentle. When Sirius speaks, his voice is smiling, and he makes Remus’s guts feel weak and hot. Butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, and Remus just wants to reach for him stupidly, pull him close, and kiss him hard. It’s something Remus can feel without having to see it, taste it, or touch it.

An energy so palpable that he’s sure he could ask, “Can you feel that?” and Sirius would say, “Always have, man.”

Remus thinks that he could tell Sirius to stop calling him man, or dude, or bro, but then he could have to use a pet name like sweetheart or baby, and they can’t have that, now can they? Remus thinks that there’s a million things he could do, or say, to change the way things are and yet he would never. He lets himself be warmed by Sirius’s sunlight. As though Remus could have seen it, rather than felt it. It’s like a presence. A spirit. And sunbeams through the trees, filtering and flitting, touching and warmth. 

The sun still comes out when you’re blind. Most every day. Lit up from within, vein by vein, the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk what you thought!


End file.
